Pickup Lines
by Bianca tabbycat
Summary: Every weekend at the local pub, when Hermione catches up on the latest news, a persistent man would interrupt her routine by doing humiliating things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of drabbles
1. 1st December, 2002

**Pickup Lines  
>Chapter 1 <strong>

_Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me_

_Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione._

_*Pickup Lines*_

_Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. ~Joseph Conrad._

"Miss?"

Hermione put down her steaming cup of hot chocolate and looked up from her copy of the _Wizarding Gazette_, which was, according to the paper-boy, "fresh off the press". She had been pursuing the latest news concerning the signing of the Treaty of Peace (note the imaginative name) between the centaurs in Scotland and the Wizarding population. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had said he was "pleased to see this new development, and [he] has high hopes for further treaties between different species in the future."

Anyway, back to the source of interruption of Hermione's weekly routine…

"Yes?" She asked politely, twisting around in her seat to regard the blond man, who was currently leaning over the booth top separating them to speak to her. "How may I help you?"

The man looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering…" He paused, as if searching for the right phrase in his mind. Meanwhile, Hermione waited impatiently for his request, mentally tapping her foot and screaming, _"Hurry up, for heaven's sake!" _in all the ways she could think of.

"– A Sickle?" The man's deep voice broke into Hermione's silent tirade, stirring her from her thoughts. She blinked at the man, wondering if she had missed anything. Scratch that, she _knew_ she had missed something; she just didn't know what.

"A Sickle?" Hermione repeated stupidly, and then got the urge to smack herself for acting like an idiot. _"Come on, Hermione! You're the cleverest witch of your age, so start acting like it!" _she reprimanded herself sternly, gritting her teeth.

"Yes. I need to borrow a Sickle," the man supplied helpfully, exaggerating each syllable and making Hermione feel like she was in nursery school all over again. Despite this feeling, however, she managed to look indifferent.

"Really? And why do you need a Sickle?" She raised an eyebrow – a wordless challenge to the man.

"Well, it's quite simple, actually," he said airily, flashing a cocky smirk at the brunette. "I just want to Floo my mother to tell her I just met the girl of my dreams…" He ended this with a saucy wink and his trademark smirk.

Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin line, almost thin enough to rival her former Head of House. "Really?" She got up from her seat, directing her famous death glare at the blonde, whose smirk faltered slightly; the Gryffindor's reputation had preceded her. In response to her question, he just gulped. Hermione could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"To tell you the truth, I know you're lying. You know why?" She didn't pause long enough for him to answer before rushing on. "'Cause you're a _Malfoy_." She spat his last name like it was an insult, oblivious to the wince that crossed his features.

"And you know what Malfoys always do?" Hermione narrowed her eyes spitefully, her hand rendering the newspaper crumpled beyond repair. "They always carry their wallets with them when they leave their house. Oh wait; it's a _mansion_, isn't it? So why would you be asking me, a lowly _Mudblood_, to lend you a Sickle? Huh?"

She stopped her rant, breathing heavily as she eyed Draco, her emotions now hidden underneath a deathly calm façade. He stared back at her, his face blank like hers. It seemed a decade because the silence was broken.

"I stopped thinking you were a Mudblood ages ago," he whispered, barely noticing the curious eyes of the other customers in the pub. "Since seventh year."

Hermione stared at him quietly, stunned, before snapping into action. "Excuse me," she choked out, hands fumbling blindly for the _Wizarding Gazette_, which she had dropped somewhere in her rant,and her no longer steaming cup of hot chocolate. "I – I have to go."

She practically flew out of the Three Broomsticks with her belongings clutched in her hands, leaving the grey-eyed blonde staring at the fast-disappearing silhouette, a wistful expression on his face.

"Young love," the old woman sitting in a dark corner of the pub warbled, her hand shaking as she held her walking stick like a lifeline. Her eyes were a dull green, fooling people into believing she was nothing more than a lifeless shell of a person; but that certainly wasn't true, for this old woman sees just as well as we do… And perhaps even better.

"Young love…"

* * *

><p><em>AN: And so Hermione runs out, confused, leaving Draco behind. Ooh, and there's also an old woman who, perhaps, sees even better than we do. Who wants to have a guess at who she is or what part she would play in this story? Or she just might be a one-time OC; who knows? (shrugs mysteriously)_

_By the way, yes, I am aware than this is shorter than my usual chapter. However, this is also one of my favourite stories… Written by me, of course. :D Also, I have a very, very, very important question for you all. So, to catch your attention, I will use bold and capital letters to emphasize the importance of this:_

_**DO YOU THINK THIS SHOULD BE A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC, OR SHOULD IT SIMPLY REMAIN A ONE-SHOT?**_

_Hehe… That should've got your attention. So, until I get enough reviews to tip the balance for either of the options, this story will remain under the category "In Progress". So, entertain me till then by doing these… REVIEW, FAVOURITE, ALERT AND READ! Whoops… You are already reading this. Forgive my mistakes, both grammar-wise and logical-wise… :D_

_Cheers,_

_Bianca tabbycat_

_P.S. Funnily enough, I got inspiration for this story as I was walking to school. I guess school is useful sometimes, huh?_


	2. 8th December, 2002

**Pickup Lines**

**Chapter 2**

_Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me._

_Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione._

_Dedicated to:** Liv76, darknessxinxyourxheart, and Alli. Toxic**_

_For encouraging me to continue this story :D _

_(Note: The orders of your names do not affect the amount of my gratitude)_

_*Pickup Lines*_

_Flying is simple. You just throw yourself at the ground and miss. ~Douglas Adams._

Hermione was determined to return to the Three Broomsticks.

Yes, no matter what. Wild horses wouldn't keep her away. A high fever wouldn't either. She could fall down the stairs and it wouldn't even deter her in the slightest; she could just crawl there, or limp, or… Maybe she should just get a wheelchair, for convenience's sake. It would be much quicker.

Back to the point – she had made up her mind to go to the Three Broomsticks as usual.

And yes, she really _was _going to go, despite the huge possibility that Malfoy would be there. She wasn't about to give up on her weekly routine she had done for four long years just because of a slimy Slytherin male. No, Hermione was definitely not the kind of female who let the male species walk all over her just because of _prejudice_. Just ask her friends. Wait a sec... How exactly did her train of thought find its way from the Three Broomsticks to feminism, anyway?

"Enough with the rambling, Hermione. _Enough. _And please, do not hyperventilate. At any causes."

Satisfied with her little pep talk, Hermione gave a small smile to encourage herself. She grabbed her purse, wallet and keys, then made sure all appliances, electrical or otherwise, were turned off.

Inspection completed, she proceeded to turn on the spot and vanish into thin air soundlessly.

_*Pickup Lines*_

A brown-haired young woman reappeared in front of the newsagent's, nipped inside to grab her copy of the _Wizarding Gazette_, then nipped back outside again to continue her walk to the pub in Hogsmeade, a short distance away. Instead of admiring the beautiful, peaceful scenery, listening to the carefree laughs of young children, or merely "appreciating the wonders of nature", as she called it, she occupied herself by fussing about how she would confront Malfoy, should he happen to be there. None of the imagined scenarios ended up well. A majority of them involved Malfoy revealing that he was actually still the same spoiled brat from Hogwarts, while the remaining ones involved her losing her temper and slapping him – again.

Not a good omen of the day ahead, right?

But then again, Hermione had never been and will never be a fan of Divination.

But that was of no concern. She had arrived – to her doom.

She peered in through the frosted window, trying to see the familiar head of pale blond hair. After a tense search, she determined the location of her target; he was in the soft, plush loveseat with his back to her. Thank Merlin Malfoy hadn't see her looking for him; that might inflate his head to the point of bursting. And she wouldn't want that to happen, would she?

Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden door to the soft chime of bells. After a rather hurried nod to Mister Radford, Madam Rosmerta's grandson, she stalked over to the loveseat and plopped down on the seat opposite the blonde, which just so happens to be a wooden chair – the one that always kept sticking into her uncomfortably despite her varied sitting positions.

"Malfoy," she greeted breathlessly, wiggling to find a way she could sit without getting her bottom numb. "Fancy seeing you here."

He looked at her over his newspaper. "I wouldn't have thought you would 'fancy' me in any way, Granger," he drawled lazily, setting down the _Daily Prophet_. "But you do learn something new every day, right?"

Hermione could feel a sense of dread; if this went on any longer, it would end just like her Imagined Situation Number 1. And that would not be a good thing.

"Look, Malfoy," she tried, still fidgeting. "I'm sorry for what happened last week."

That got his attention. "My, my, what have I done to deserve this? The Golden Gryffindor Girl, apologizing to me, the _Malfoy_!" Draco mocked. "This should be in the news."

"Look, Malfoy, I was wrong, okay?" Hermione sighed, and prepared herself for the truckload of snide remarks. Finding none, surprisingly, she continued her confession. "It's just… First impressions last. From the moment I set eyes on you, you insulted me. Called me every bad name on the planet. And after the War, I'm told out of the blue that you, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, was actually a spy for the Light? People's views don't change overnight. It just doesn't happen. And since I didn't really talk to you after that…" She shrugged. "You didn't give me the chance to see for myself if you've really changed."

She bit her lip, feeling vulnerable to attack after her speech. To give herself something to do and an excuse not to look into Draco's intense grey eyes, she squirmed some more on her chair, twisted around in her seat, and called for her favourite cup of hot chocolate.

"Stop moving, will you?" Draco's tired voice reached Hermione's ears, and she turned back to her companion. "You're making my fucking hangover worse."

Hearing his comment, her temper flared up once more. "It's not my fault, Malfoy," she snapped. "It's the chair's. It's just so… hard?" She finished lamely, knowing that she had probably made a fool of herself again by blaming the chair. Before she could elaborate on her answer, Draco stood up, came over, carried her bridal-style, and dumped her unceremoniously on the loveseat.

"There," he murmured, head slumped on the back of the sofa. "Problem solved. Good for you, good for me. And by the way, I accept your apology."

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she took in the hushed coos and 'aww's inside the warm pub. "This is not good. People seeing us act like this will assume we are a _couple_. That is _not good_."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You don't want us to be a couple. I understand completely. Why don't we start slow? Friends?" He offered her his hand, and Hermione stared at it warily as if it was an UFO.

"Malfoy… I think it'll be better to start really, really slow. Acquaintances?" It was now her turn to beam and hold out her hand.

"Deal."

They shook on it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY! An update in about 24 hours later… That's not bad for me. :D To congratulate me and to act as motivation, I would like to invite you all to do any of the options below. Either:_

_Review (10 marks)_

_Read my other stories (7 marks)_

_Favourite (5 marks)_

_Alert (3 marks)_

_Anyway, people who were very good girls and did option A will get the next chapter dedicated to them! So… Choose anyway, folks!_

_Bianca tabbycat_

_P.S. Hopefully inspiration would strike tomorrow so I could type up chapter three. :)_

_P.P.S. I know there's no pickup line in this chappie… But give Draco a break; he has a "fucking hangover". However, I will force-feed him aspirin so he will feel up to it soon! (a.k.a. next chapter)_


	3. 15th December, 2002

**Pickup Lines**

**Chapter 3**

_Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me._

_Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione._

_Dedicated to: **Zoe tabbycat, Liv76, kim, Alli. Toxic, and Just Your Above Average Malfoy**_

_For being good girls/ boys and REVIEWING! (cheers) Seriously, guys? 5 REVIEWS! Thank you so much… _

_(As stated previously, the order of your names do not affect the amount of my gratitude)_

_*Pickup Lines*_

_The difference between humor and tragedy is that humor is when it happens to someone else. ~Unknown_

This was bad. Very bad.

"_What exactly was very bad?"_ you might ask. _"Come on, you're the great Draco Malfoy, famous undercover spy, who has everything going for him except in the romance department, and even that is going to be solved if everything goes according to plan. What would cause you to think a thing was bad?"_

Well, the answer was quite simple, and it was – drum roll, please – the fiery temper of a certain Gryffindor with distinguishable brown hair. Yes, you're right! It _is _Hermione Jean Granger.

Now, do stop celebrating your success and focus on poor Draco's predicament…

"That Chaput is _such _an arrogant jerk," Hermione scowled fiercely, grounding her teeth together as she glared at the cherry wood coffee table. Surprisingly, it didn't disintegrate into flames, and Draco thanked whatever great entity up there who was blessing him. He had already been on the receiving end of her anger multiple times, and was secretly smug that he was now the one watching another person being verbally abused.

"I mean, what's wrong with supporting house elf rights?" She practically growled, slamming her palms on the coffee table. Draco shrank back into the soft stuffing of his seat, mentally replacing the coffee table with his cheek and wincing at the pain he would have received, if that was to happen. Maybe this wouldn't be as fun as he had expected. Right on cue, Mister Radford appeared, steaming cup in hand. Saved by the bell – no, manager of the pub. With a murmured apology for the long wait, Radford quickly scampered back to the safety of the bar. Lucky, smart bastard. Draco envied him deeply.

"I don't even know _how _Chaput got on the Wizengamot. I mean, he's _French_. He wasn't even born in Britain. Not that I'm a racist or anything, of course –" She took a sip of her hot chocolate – "But he's on the _British _Wizengamot! That doesn't make any sense."

"And if that wasn't not bad enough," Hermione continued her rant, "he was the one that discouraged most of the Wizengamot from supporting my cause. There I was, giving my speech, and then all of a sudden, _he_ steps out and says in that ridiculous French accent of his that house elves rights are complete _rubbish_!"

Draco made the appropriate "oh dear" comments, taking extreme care not to allow any sarcasm to enter his tone. If he was fortunate, he would have succeeded.

"I know, right? And the last straw was when he comes up to me after my presentation, tells me that I should be spending my time and effort on better issues, offers me a job at his _stupid_ company, and tries to feel me up."

"_What? _Are you kidding me?" Draco sat bolt upright, leaning anxiously towards Hermione. "That son of a bitch. He tried to feel you up? You should sue him!"

She gave him a pleading look. "Uh… Draco? Everyone's looking at us…" She gestured discreetly towards their now captive audience.

"Oh…"

There was a very, very awkward silence when they both looked anywhere but at each other. It was not an easy feat, and it lasted for five decades. Okay, so it was just five minutes. Finally, after those extraordinarily long five minutes, Draco couldn't bear the tense silence any longer.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Yes?" Her glance was still directed somewhere behind him, and Draco too turned around to see what was so interesting.

Oh… It was just an old woman; nothing special. She had an unnerving stare, though. Was that special? Anyway, back to the conversation.

"Hermione, do you have any raisins?"

She gave him one of her looks. No, not the 'you-will-drop-dead-now-or-_else_' look; the 'what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you' look. "No, as a matter of fact, I do not have any raisins. Why? Would you like me to order some from Radford?" Hermione asked in an exasperated voice.

"No, that won't be necessary. But since you don't have raisins, then can you give me a date?" Draco looked at her with his wide puppy dog eyes, in the hopes that she would give in to the magical powers of his mesmerizing stormy eyes. Instead of his predicted results, in which Hermione happily agreed and they skipped off into the sunset, she just laughed – long and hard.

"What the hell is wrong with you, woman?" Draco hissed disbelievingly. "I just bloody asked you for a date, and you laugh like… like… like a hyena?"

"Alright, that wasn't very charming, Draco, calling a girl a hyena," Hermione managed to choke out when her chuckles subsided. "But seriously, do you know how you looked like just now?"

She doubled over, the image of Draco's attempted puppy dog eyes bringing on another laughing fit. "You – looked – so – adorably – silly!" If she kept on chortling for say, another minute, she would have ended up rolling on the floor.

"I am _not_ adorable, nor am I silly!" he insisted, fist clenched. "Men are neither adorable nor silly. Especially not _me_. I am completely manly."

This just fueled Hermione's fit. "You… Manly…" After giving a very unladylike snort, she composed herself.

"Back to the topic… No, Draco, I do not have a date. Kindly keep that in mind."

Shit. Attempt Number 2 at Wooing Hermione Granger via Witty Pickup Lines – fail.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yes… I know I am 24 hours late. :( But I had dance lessons yesterday morning, and since our dance competition is just one measly little week away, my teachers transformed from nice teacher to slave-driver… Not a good thing. And so I was completely knackered, and… Yeah. I was too busy trying to relief my aching muscles to write. Sorry… (embarrassed look)_

_Anyway, I made it up to you by presenting this chapter, right? Yay, me! And guess who is the old woman Hermione was staring at… Shouldn't be too hard, right? (cough, chapter 1, cough)_

_I hope you like this chapter, 'cause I did it in kind of a rush. I was scared you guys would kill me; or at the very least, torture me. If you didn't like this, then perhaps you'll like the next one better. I've got a good idea for it, and personally, I have a feeling it's going to be one of my favourite chapters._

_Lastly, I have a request… Or rather, an invitation. Again, I'll use capital and bold letters:_

_**IF YOU HAVE ANY PARTICULAR PICKUP LINE YOU WOULD LIKE ME TO MAKE USE OF, YOU ARE MOST WELCOME TO TELL ME SO IN A REVIEW. :D **_

_So… Thanks for reading, guys!_

_Bianca tabbycat_

_P.S. I have school again tomorrow, so updates are going to be irregular… I apologize in advance!_

_P.P.S. Please, don't kill me! (shrinks away)_


	4. 22nd December, 2002

**Pickup Lines**

**Chapter 4**

_Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me._

_Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione._

_Dedicated to: **E. C Silence, Ethy-Riddle, Alli. Toxic, Zoe tabbycat, KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun, and skinnerbox27**_

_For giving me pickup lines, as well as reviewing in general :D_

_(Do I have to say this again? The orders of your names do not affect the amount of my gratitude)_

_*Pickup Lines*_

_I told my wife that a husband is like a fine wine; he gets better with age. The next day, she locked me in the cellar. ~Unknown._

It was so amazingly warm inside the Three Broomsticks that Hermione felt like staying there for eternity. Maybe if that wish came true, then she'd stop being harassed about her still single status by Ginny, who kept setting her up on blind dates with men she dubbed "eligible bachelors". Unfortunately, that dream would remain a fantasy, forever and always.

Reality sucked, and that was a fact.

"_Thinking about my love life is depressing,"_ Hermione thought, frowning. And then out of the blue, she thought of her New Year's resolution – to stop moaning over how her life was horrible. Draco would be happy to hear about that, she'd bet; he had become her confidant in the short space of two weeks; or rather, six hours, which they spent in the pub talking about every subject possible, ranging from the political aspect of the Wizarding World to trading verbal barbs.

Thinking back to the day they had officially became "acquaintances", Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Had it really been just two weeks since then? It felt more like two years; she and Draco got along so perfectly and smoothly (except for the frequent playful quarrels they had, for entertainment reasons), it was like they were made for each other. No! Of course, not the 'made for each other' in romantic issues. It was more of a… friendly 'made for each other'. Remember, _not _in romantic terms. No daydreaming about the 'what-if's. Got that, brain? Good.

Great, she was rambling again. She needed something to keep her brain occupied. Like… There's Draco! Sitting in the booth where they had first seen each other face-to-face in four, nearly five years. Her spirits lifted, as if the blonde had placed a _Wingardium Leviosa_ on them. _"Funny…" _Hermione mused over the sudden change. _"I only feel like this when I'm with him. Or maybe it's just the prospect of hot chocolate. That's it! I just want hot chocolate."_

Hermione repeated this in her head like a mantra as she headed for the booth. _"Hot chocolate, hot chocolate, hot chocolate…"_

Squeals echoed around the pub as she reached her destination. Hermione looked around, half-curious and half-annoyed. What was _wrong _with these people? She decided to ignore them – the best technique in her book when she didn't understand something.

"Hello, Draco," she greeted warmly, remaining oblivious to her companion's panicked 'no's, looks, and hand gestures as she slid into her seat. "I know, it's a bit late for this, but Merry –" Hermione's sentence was cut off abruptly as she stared, open-mouthed, at the shimmering golden sheet of light that was surrounding her and Draco at a rapid speed, cutting off their vision of the outside world in a matter of seconds.

"Oh my God, what's happening?" Hermione demanded breathlessly, her hand diving into her purse for her trustworthy wand. She mentally thanked the warm golden glow that bathed the tiny enclosure for making her search easier. "Why are we trapped? What's this… light barrier thing?" She carefully extended her hand towards the 'light barrier thing', only to receive an electric shock that left her shaking at the knees.

"What in the name of Merlin is this?" Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration, shooting whatever curse she could think of at the light barrier. Much to her dismay, it only absorbed her spells and used them to reinforce its shield.

"It's a mistletoe barrier," Draco mumbled with a resigned air about him as Hermione despaired over their predicament. "Apparently Mister Radford purchased the latest version of Kissin' Mistletoe from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes because it was on sale and it would be more fun."

"Mistletoe barrier? Kissin' Mistletoe?" Hermione gave a slight whimper as she shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to convince herself that this was just a bad dream. A very, very, very bad dream. _"Come on, girl… Wake up!"_

"You mean I have to… Kiss you?" She managed to get out, her mind spinning as she tried to look for a way out of doing the deed. Not that she didn't want to kiss Draco, but… but… This kiss would mess up their whole relationship! It would be completely awkward, and they would gradually lose contact with each other, and she would never see him again. And that would be Bad. Very Bad. So Bad that the word 'Bad' had to be capitalized. Wait, was she even making sense?

"Yes, Hermione. You have to kiss me to get out. This is what Kissin' Mistletoe does," Draco explained slowly, as if talking to a toddler. Hermione felt her temper flaring up at his sarcastic tone. Before her anger could reach the 'Run-For-Your-Life' marker, she grabbed the collar of Draco's dress shirt, hauled him over, and crushed her lips against his.

What happened afterwards was definitely not what she expected.

The moment their lips touched, Hermione could have sworn that the Earth stopped turning on its axis. Sparks exploded and fireworks were let off, and choruses of angels sang in the background.

Okay… So the Earth didn't stop, there were no fireworks, and the angels were safe in Heaven or wherever they're supposed to be. But Hermione felt all these, and much more… Unfortunately, these other feelings of Hermione's would not be disclosed here lest they become blackmail material.

However, there was one thing she can say: this was officially the Number 1 Kiss on her list. The reasons are listed below:

His lips were warm, soft, and tasted faintly of chocolate.

His body was muscular and radiated heat like a mini-radiator – a good thing in this weather.

His arms – her favourite part on a man's body – were strong, and his biceps were prominent. In her book, that meant he was capable of making her feel safe – an automatic 100 marks.

His hair was silky smooth, perfect for threading her fingers through them.

His stormy grey eyes – mysterious, enchanting, passionate… And they held her spellbound.

Yep, this was definitely Kiss Number 1. Hermione wouldn't mind staying in this position till the end of the world; heck, she _wanted_ to stay like this forever. And what Hermione wanted, Hermione got.

That is, until…

"Could you two stop kissing so we don't barf? That's disgusting!"

Hermione finally pulled away from Draco, gasping for air, to look down at the little boy who must be around the age of five – still young enough to believe the myth that all girls have cooties. Before she could reply – though she wasn't sure what exactly she would say – a middle-aged woman popped up next to the boy, beaming all over her face.

"Great Merlin! You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" The woman gushed, eyes wide at her good fortune. After all, she _had _just been treated to a good show featuring two famous war heroes making out. It was a stroke of luck when they didn't notice the mistletoe barrier melting away.

"Can I have your signature?" A man with dark brown hair asked both of them. "Please, sign here!" He thrust a copy of the Three Broomsticks' menu at them, grinning toothily. He did not notice the glare Draco directed at him.

At the man's outspoken request, almost all the pub's customers came rushing over to the booth, and the cozy café became the chaos café in the blink of an eye. If it wasn't for Mister Radford, both of them would have died of suffocation that day.

After the more persistent fans have been ushered out, Hermione and Draco sat in a tense silence. This seemed to have become a trademark kind of thing between them.

To past the time, both of them played 'Let's-Not-Catch-Each-Other's-Eye', while desperately hoping that the other would be the one to say something – _anything_. Surprisingly, it was not the Gryffindor who took the first step; it was the Slytherin.

"So," Draco started, only to find he had a sore throat from yelling at the crowd. He gave a small cough, and tried again. "So, Hermione, how heavy does a polar bear weight?" He leaned back in his seat gingerly, hoping the brunette wouldn't explode at another of his 'cheesy, lame lines', as she had called them.

"I don't know. How heavy does a polar bear weight?" Hermione humored him. Besides, she hadn't heard this one before.

"Enough to break the ice," Draco revealed, and he was rewarded by the smile that tugged at Hermione's lips. He stared at her full, rosy lips, thought back to the kiss, and decided he wasn't going to wash his face that night.

"Well? Aren't you going to use a pickup line on me now?" She interrupted his rather dirty thoughts teasingly, crossing her arms.

"As a matter of fact, no. But I do have a secret to tell you…" He beckoned Hermione closer. As she leaned over, Draco felt the slight tickle of her hair on his hand, and goosebumps spread across his skin at the contact. He took a minute to get his bearings.

"Anyway, for my secret…" He paused dramatically to draw out the painful suspense. "I'm invisible."

Hermione shoot him a skeptical look, then drawled sarcastically, "Yeah, right."

"No, really, I am! Look, I'll prove it to you. Can you see me?" Draco looked at her hopefully; this time, he remembered to avoid the puppy dog eyes which had caused fits of laughter.

"Of course I –" Her answer faded away as she realized the double meaning of his question – _"Can you see me?"_ Too late, she recalled the fact that Draco had in fact came a close second to her first during their days at Hogwarts. Seeing no way out of this, she surrendered to her fate.

"Yes, I can see you," she sighed, and her hand reached automatically for her mug of hot chocolate, only to discover that in all the bedlam, she had forgot to place her order. _"Can this day get any worse?"_ Hermione groaned mentally.

"Great! How about the coming Friday, eight in the evening? I'll pick you up at your place," Draco suggested, grinning triumphantly. He was practically bouncing in his seat as he ranted on about their newly-arranged date.

Hermione just nodded weakly, and rested her forehead against the palm of her hand. What exactly _had_ she gotten herself into?

* * *

><p><em>AN: I am soooooooo sorry! I know I had said in the last chapter that it would be a very busy week, but I'm sure you didn't think you would have to wait that long for an update… And so to make up for my absence, you can enjoy this extra long chapter and the kiss. Anyway, for those nosy readers out there who are determined to hear my explanations/excuses, here they are:_

_Remember the dance competition I told you guys I'd be having? Well, on the second last practice before the Big Day, two members on our dance team quit – a disastrous thing. Our dance teachers had to re-plan EVERYTHING. And that ate up most of my free time. _

_I had tried to get a start on this chapter last Monday, but then I had this enormous writer's block._ _By the time my inspiration had struck, I had truckloads of homework again._

_My dad decided I have to plan the way I spend my time better, 'cause I was spending way too much time on writing. He wanted me to study more, so now I have just 45 minutes on the computer. As a result, I had to sacrifice my lunch time at school to produce this chappie._

_Yeah… I had an awful week. But on the good side: **MY DANCE TEAM WON THE COMPETETION! **Well, there were just two other entries in our category, so we would have gotten a prize either way… But that's not the point._

_Another piece of good news is that my Chinese New Year holidays starts on Saturday! So expect quicker updates from now on._

_Bianca tabbycat_

_P.S. REVIEW, PEOPLE! I update at a quicker rate if I have motivation. ;)_


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